


Sprints

by ronandhermy



Series: The Runaway Race [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to Runaway. A series of drabbles from Mickey's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sprint 1

Sometimes Mickey wonders why he puts up with this Gallagher kid. Sure, he’s a good lay but there are other dicks out there. All right, maybe not so many dicks that could keep a secret like Gallagher but it was always good to remind himself that he did still have options. Maybe not the best of options but he couldn’t really afford to be picky if he wanted to keep on living without his brothers finding out about his liking for all things testicles and balls.

Except time and time again Mickey keeps going back to Gallagher. He’s got his damn work schedule memorized at this point so he knows when he can fuck. And it’s frustrating him on a level he hasn’t experienced before. He’s bothered by how unbothered he is at how quickly he’s fallen into a routine with the red head. The red head who lives on the Northside but still manages to be in the Southside more days than not.

He hates that he doesn’t hate him. It would be so much easier if he hated him, or even mildly disliked him. But he can’t seem to bring himself to dislike someone who’s refused to give up his family even when he’d been given the Willy Wonka golden ticket to get out of this shit neighborhood. A Milkovich understood loyalty to family and could appreciate it when they saw it in others. 

Still, as he walks inside the Kash and Grab, he keeps trying to justify to himself why he keeps coming back for more. And then Gallagher is looking at him with those big blue eyes in that far too innocent looking face, and he smiles like Mickey’s just hung the moon.

Oh yeah, Mickey thinks, that’s why.


	2. Sprint Two

Mickey has decided, for all intents and purposes, that he does not like Juvie. Oh he can handle it well enough, he knows who to make alliances with and who to avoid and when to pick a fight, he just doesn’t like it. It’s boring and monotonous and no way in hell is he fucking reading. This isn’t some Malcolm X shit.

He’s only going to be in for a few months. Chronic shoplifting isn’t exactly on par with assault and dealing, so the courts will kick him to the Southside curb soon enough. But God damn if he isn’t horny. And no way in hell was he going to even hint at the barest possibility that he liked a dick in the ass. Not here. No way in hell was he becoming someone’s bitch. Not Mickey Milkovich. 

And fuck if Gallagher coming to visit him didn’t make it worse. That little red haired punk dressed in his private school uniform telling him he put money in Mickey’s commissary. Like that’s a thing they do. Like they take care of each other. Like it’s not weird. And Gallagher just comes to talk with him, make sure he’s all right and not getting into too many fights. He visits more than his actual family. Christ. 

It bothers him how he feels about this red headed punk who lives on the Northside. How he feels himself going soft for this kid, letting him get away with saying or doing shit that would have earned anyone else a black eye or a bruised rib. Sometimes at night, when the lights are off and his cellmate has fallen asleep, he thinks about Gallagher. And he allows himself to enjoy the feelings that kid inspires. The warmth and giddiness that make him feel young and carefree. Like he’s actually allowed to be. And then he’ll lock those feelings up tight so no one can touch them or see them or break them. 

So yeah, maybe Gallagher’s more than a fuck but that didn’t mean anything. It just meant Mickey liked what was attached to the dick. At least that’s what he told himself as he waited for the days to pass. It was his favorite pastime in Juvie, rationalizing his behavior. And it felt like he had all the time in the world to do so. If only he could believe himself.


	3. Sprint Three

Ok, getting caught with his pants down and a dick up his ass, not his idea of a pleasant evening. Thank whatever power decided Mickey needed to be looked after that day because it was only Gallagher’s suburban wanna-be mom that had walked in on them. If it had been one of his brothers, or God forbid his Dad, Mickey knows he’d be six feet under and Gallagher would be in the grave next to him.

Instead of a beating though he’s just being subjected to a warped after school special about feelings and acceptance in the Northside Gallagher household. It’s enough to make Mickey break out in hives. He’d almost rather take the beating at this point so he doesn’t have to listen to the accusation that he’s in love with this punk. Mickey Milkovich didn’t do love. He did sex and fighting and theft. He did not, under any circumstances, fall in love. 

Except he wasn’t running like he should have been and that’s when Mickey began to suspect he might be lying to himself. That was another issue for another day. Right now he’s trying to figure out how he allowed himself to be cowed by a suburbanite into attending a family dinner. Where he had been introduced as a boyfriend. He tried not to gag. He hadn’t objected because he figured he’d keep his head down, eat quickly and get the fuck out of Dodge. 

That didn’t stop him for noticing Gallagher’s fucking ecstatic grin when Mickey didn’t put up a fuss. And so, yeah, maybe he liked seeing the stupid prick smile but only because when Gallagher was happy he usually made Mickey happy too. Usually with blowjobs. So Mickey wasn’t really going to complain about one stupid word said at one stupid dinner in one stupid house on the Northside. No way was any of this getting back to anyone on the Southside. Not even through Gallagher’s little pipsqueak of a brother. That kid knew to keep his mouth shut or else. 

When they’d finally be released from whatever warped Twilight-zone version of a sitcom they’d be trapped in, Gallagher had been far too fucking pleased with himself. He was such a smug little shit sometimes. But then his dick was in Gallagher’s mouth so he wasn’t really going to complain at this point. From the effort Gallagher was putting in he sure was happy. And when Gallagher was happy he made Mickey happy. And Mickey fucking loved being happy.


	4. Sprint Four

Mickey is having dinner with the Northside Gallaghers' again and he has no idea how he got here. Scratch that, he knew how. He just wanted to know how he allowed himself to fall into a position that he would agree to this. It was extortion was what it was. If he wasn’t so pissed off he might even be a little bit proud of Gallagher. Showed he was still Southside underneath that Northside polish.

“So, Mickey,” Mommy Gallagher begins, after making sure everyone has enough pot roast and bread and warm family feelings that make Mickey itch, “Ian says you’re going to be working at the store with him.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mickey finally responds around a mouth full of potato after Gallagher kicks him under the table. He was so paying him back for that.

“Well I think that’s wonderful,” Daddy Gallagher says, and he looks so much like Ian it’s a bit freakish. “I think it shows a real incentive especially in this economy.”

Gallagher smothers a giggle behind his hand and Mickey hopes he chokes on that carrot he’s ingesting. “Sure,” Mickey replies, viciously stabbing a piece of meat with his too nice fork, “I guess.”

“No, no, I think it’s really great that you and Ian are showing this town that even teenagers can be productive members of society,” and the red headed man smiled with no guile.

See, this is why Mickey couldn’t take this house seriously. They used phrases like “productive members of society” without any trace of irony or sarcasm. Mickey was tempted to talk about how he made more money from moving meth and blow then he ever would make at the shitty Kash and Grab. Before he can open his mouth to deliver the death blow to this overly domestic scene the littlest Gallagher just has to pipe up.

“So Dad, I was talking to Coach today after practice and he said if I keep up with doing those pitching exercises he showed me that I might be able to start next game,” and the boy is grinning like a hundred watt light bulb. But he’s also got that underlying smugness going on that Mickey is just beginning to associate with all the Gallagher siblings, Northside or not.

He thinks Gallagher might be annoyed at his brother interrupting his fun at watching Mickey in the hot seat but the older Gallagher boy is just looking at his little brother fondly and says, “Hey, tomorrow why don’t you and I go to the park and throw the ball around. You can show me your improved pitch.”

And the pipsqueak is looking at Ian like he’s just told him Babe Ruth was coming to play ball with him. Mickey just shifts in his chair, unsure of what he’s supposed to do but eat. He’s not used to having two parents at the table, or parents making dinner, or parents asking about a person’s day and not yelling. It’s so strange and he wants to mock it but he can’t bring himself to do so, because they’re including him. Or trying to at any rate.

Gallagher’s looking at him with those damn puppy eyes again too. The kind that screamed the type of things people like Mickey weren’t allowed to have or to even want in the first place. But he wanted it and damn it if it wasn’t being offered to him on a silver platter by a freckled red head. So he’d suck it up and eat the damn dinner and later he knew Ian would show just how grateful he was for Mickey’s good behavior. And if he let himself feel things he wasn’t supposed to, well it wasn’t like anyone had to know.


	5. Sprint Five

Mickey really fucking hates Juvie. This time he doesn’t even have Gallagher’s visits to look forward to. After what he said he’s not exactly surprised but at the same time it still kinda stings. Mandy comes to visit every so often, but their conversations only gloss over the things Mickey really wants to know. Like how Gallagher’s holding up. If Frank told anyone what he’d seen. From the fact that he’s still alive and hasn’t had his Dad deliver a death threat Mickey’s pretty sure his secret is safe with the drunk. 

He spends his time thinking back on how he got here, how he allowed himself to become so wrapped up in Gallagher that they’d forgotten to check the back locks. He should’ve known something was bound to happen, the other shoe had to drop or some shit. It had been too good for it to be real. To last. With Gallagher things just felt right. Not just the sex, although that was fantastic, but just talking or roughing housing or whatever. Mickey could admit now that Gallagher and him were friends. Best friends if he wanted to sound like a fag about it. And he missed his best friend.

When he got out of this shithole he’d have to make it right with the kid. Except he had no idea to go about doing that. Because, even though Gallagher had been on the Northside for a few years now he was still Southside underneath. Which meant that he’d already forgiven Mickey or he was planning how best to make him pay. But it was Gallagher so Mickey was fairly sure he’d gone and licked his wounds. Maybe he wouldn’t be as trusting when he got back, maybe he would be a bit standoffish at first, but Mickey was sure they’d be back to fucking soon as he was out. 

And fucking meant more than sex to Gallagher. He let feelings get mixed up in it. Mickey knew because that punk could go from eager puppy, wanting to play, to strutting idiot after banging. Sometimes he wanted to grab Gallagher by the shoulders and yell at him to get out while he still could. He now got why Lip was so protective of the dweeb, he left himself open to far too much. His choice for a prospective romantic partner was Mickey for Christ’s sake. 

But fuck if he didn’t want to make things right with the kid. And, if it were really late at night he would admit to himself, not just for the sex. He missed Gallagher. He has a few more months, maybe less if he gets good behavior, so he has time to think of a plan. He’ll make it right, he swears to himself. Can’t let Gallagher wander off somewhere else now. Not now that he’s made Mickey miss him.


	6. Sprint Six

Things are going good, real good, and Mickey is pleased as fuck with life. He got his old job back at the Kash and Grab, Gallagher took him back (although Mickey refused to ever say those words aloud. Ever) and it was summer. He’d even helped Gallagher throw his little brother a birthday party. He didn’t regret it even if that little shit had the nerve to trash talk Mickey. Why, it almost made Mickey proud how far that pipsqueak’s come, standing up for family and all instead of crying to big brother about it.

And my how Gallagher has grown. He’s now nearly a head taller than Mickey and with muscles to match his long frame. Muscles Mickey freely admits to touching at any given opportunity, even if it’s just to shove Gallagher out of the way to get to the fridge. Sometimes he doesn’t he realize he’s touching the red headed giant until he can feel the flesh moving beneath his fingers. He wants it. To touch and taste and be consumed by Gallagher. He chocks it up to being horny but he can’t escape that prick in the back of his skull that tells him he’s lying to himself again.

Everything would have been going perfect except for the fact that Frank called CPS on his own family. That was shitty, even from a Milkovich perspective, you didn’t squeal on family. Gallagher wasn’t a part of the whole fuck up now that he was Northside but he was forced to watch his siblings get put through the system again. He got his Dad to hire a lawyer to help Fiona out in getting the rug-rats back but the kid was still worried out of his mind.

The red head and his little suburban brother ended up crashing at Mickey’s house after a day of running around trying to fix this mess Frank had created. He wanted to say something but really, if someone had taken Mandy or Iggy away, Mickey probably would have freaked out too. So he lets the red heads stay sleeping in their prone positions on the couch. They look like a couple of puppies and Mickey nearly punches himself for having such a thought. 

Instead of waking them up he sits in the recliner and observes these two brothers. The younger is far too innocent for having spent as much time as he has in the Southside. Mickey doesn’t know if that makes the pipsqueak a good person or just a retard. Gallagher is all protective tendencies and wanting to see the best in everyone while still knowing how to scam with the best of ‘em. He’s also the best dick Mickey’s ever had so that’s a point in his favor.

Mickey’s beginning to accept that when it comes to Gallagher he’s always going to be a bit soft. Doesn’t mean people had to know that. He figured he was kinda like those apples they had in the school cafeteria, back when he went to school, the kind that looked all shiny and crisp. Heck, they even felt like they’d be good and crisp and tough. But then you bit into them and they were all mealy and mushy. Mickey figures that’s how he’s like with Gallagher. 

He’ll wake him up in a bit, once he’s settled himself. Can’t have Gallagher trying to have an emotional heart-to-heart talk. Not this early and certainly not here. So Mickey leaned back in his chair and just watched Gallagher breathe.


	7. The Seventh Sprint

For some reason Mickey is over at the Gallagher’s Northside home, like it’s totally normal that he’s here, just hanging out in G.I. Joe’s room. Mommy Gallagher had even asked if he wanted a snack when he just walked in, like it was no big deal to have a guy with a juvie record showing up at her house. Well he wasn’t going to turn down free food so now he was munching on a sandwich while lounging on Gallagher’s bed.

“If you get crumbs on my sheets I will smother you in your sleep,” Gallagher comments, not even looking up from whatever textbook he’s reading, highlighter at the ready, as if he can capture all the details of useless knowledge that way.

“Pussy,” Mickey just remarks in turn, taking another bite out of his sandwich. It’s definitely in the top ten sandwiches he’s eaten in his life, flavored with the unique tang of domesticity and relaxation. 

“If I had a pussy I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like me,” Gallagher throws back, almost like a challenge as he leans in closer to his textbook. He’s trying to act like he isn’t holding his breath. 

“Who says I like you?” Mickey retorts, finishing off his snack.

Gallagher just gives him a look that suggests by virtue of even having to ask that question the answer has already been provided. He even has the gall to roll his eyes. Like the question is so far beneath him. 

Mickey picks up a soft football that was under Gallagher’s bed and chucks it at the kid’s head. It hits his shoulder instead but with enough force to make the red head turn and say, “What the fuck Mick?”

“Language,” the dark haired boy mocks with a laugh. “What’re you even reading anyway?”

“Hamlet,” Gallagher supplies, and then, because he’s a dick, he adds, “by Shakespeare.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Mickey grouses, regretting have thrown the ball so soon. Gallagher just smirks and continues his reading.

“I’m bored,” Mickey says into the quite. 

“Mmm hmm,” was all the reply he gets.

“Wanna fuck?”

Now that gets Gallagher’s attention. His smirk just grows as he gets up to make sure his door is locked before undoing his pants and walking over to Mickey. The gantlet has been thrown down and accepted, the time for talking is over. At least for now. Now the two boys just focus on each others' breathes and movements and the rush that comes from all of this. And Mickey knows he’s grinning too and he doesn’t even care.


	8. Sprint 8

It’s 2am on a Friday and Mickey is pretending to be asleep. He does that sometimes, act like a possum and play dead to avoid talking to people or admitting to anything by virtue of being awake. Some people would call him a coward for ducking out that way but some people were stupid. Mickey was playing it smart. So just because Gallagher could pass out like the dead after dropping a bomb shell didn’t mean Mickey could since he was still trying to process what had happened.

He’d been about to fall asleep, not even pretending to be bothered by Gallagher’s leech like tendencies anymore, when Gallagher had pushed his body flush against Mickey’s and whispered, in a voice clogged with sleep, “Love you.” Then he had the fucking gall to pass out, his warm breath on Mickey’s neck, and his arms firmly wrapped around the older boy so that he couldn’t escape. Now Mickey couldn’t fall asleep even if he wanted to. And oh did he want to. 

He would welcome the darkness of dreams if only to prevent himself from feeling the overwhelming warmth that’s been blossoming in his heart and radiating outward. He’s not even mad at Gallagher, not really, ‘cause he’s a dope and honestly Mickey’s surprised it’s taken the kid this long to say it considering how many therapy session the kid goes to all to discuss feelings. He’s mad at himself for feeling all safe and warm and wanted when this is not what was supposed to happen. Gallagher was just supposed to be a fuck. 

What a joke, Mickey thought to himself. He couldn’t even fucking tell a convincing lie to himself anymore. No way was Gallagher just a fuck. Never really had been. Mickey had tried to keep his feelings locked up tight but that fucking Gallagher had to go and learn how to pick locks. Son of a bitch. How dare he make Mickey feel these things. Make him want things he never thought were possibilities. How dare he love Mickey.

But the anger was just a front and he knew it. If he was angry then he didn’t have to admit that he was giving in to Gallagher with all his mushy feelings and sly smiles full of genuine affection. He takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nostrils, feeling Gallagher’s arms tighten around him just a fraction. Mickey covers one of Gallagher’s hands with his own briefly. Just a moment. Not enough to be accused of holding hands or any girly shit like that. It was just a touch.

I love you, Mickey thought to himself. Just to test it out. No way would he ever say it aloud. Not when he knew Gallagher would take it and run with it and never look back. Mickey wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But at least he felt calmer now, and he allowed himself to relax into the red headed boy’s grip and sleep.


	9. Sprint 9

Mickey was going to kill Gallagher. That was it. The stupid kid had to go and get shot. Who the fuck gets shot with all that jarhead training? Ian fucking Gallagher is who. If he was dead, he would kill him. And then he’d hunt down who’d ever shot him and put him in the ground. Fuck it he was going to do that last part anyway.

“Where is he?” he demanded as he marched to the nurses’ station.

“Which patient are you looking for?” a nurse with blond hair and bags under her eyes, obviously new, asked.

“Gallagher. Ian Gallagher,” Mickey practically spat out. He was jittery. He was on fire and he felt like he was coming down from a bad high. 

“He’s in room 702,” the nurse said but then continued with, “But you have to be family to—“

“Look lady,” Mickey said, his voice dropping slightly as leaned in close, “I’m not about to explain to you my whole life story or how the fuck Gallagher and I are involved. All you need to know is that I’m going to see him. And if you say one fucking word about it to anyone I will hunt you down and end you. Understand? Good.”

Then he was half-walking half-running to the elevator, where the damn thing couldn’t get to the seventh floor fast enough. By the time he found the room he was breathing heavily, air forcing its way out his nostrils in violent bursts. He forces himself to slow down and steady himself before opening the door.

He’s quick to shut the door behind him. Doesn’t want any unexpected interruptions. He’s surprised none of the Gallaghers are gathered like vultures to pick Gallagher’s sadness off of his bones. Instead, there’s just Gallagher in one of those flimsy hospital gowns, attached to an IV, looking so pale and worn in the sterile hospital bed it’s almost like he’s already lying in his coffin. Mickey’s heart falters for a moment, not liking how small and vulnerable Gallagher seems. He doesn’t like it at all.

He takes a seat and looks at the pale sheet pulled up around Gallagher’s chest, watches it rise and fall ever so faintly. He can’t stand this. Gallagher’s not supposed to look like this. He’s supposed to be all shit eating grins, and stolen kisses and hard fucks and life. He’s supposed to be alive. Not this pale imitation that threatens to slip away.

And fuck, but Mickey knows that if Gallagher dies he’ll never recover. Gallagher’s it for him and he knows it. Knows it deep in his bones and where that funny muscle called a heart resides. He can feel a stinging behind his eyes but he won’t shed one tear. Not one fucking tear for Gallagher. Because he’s going to get better and when he is he’ll tease Mickey mercilessly for crying. That’s it. That’s all it is.

He should go. He’s seen the kid, made sure he’s alive, made sure no one was lurking around waiting to finish the job. But he’s not moving and he knows he’s not going to. He can’t stop watching the gentle rise and fall of that stupid hospital sheet. In and out, in and out. Another breath, one right after the other. And Mickey keeps vigil because that’s all he can do.


	10. Sprint 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it, the end of this drabble series. Thank you for reading it.

Mickey has Gallagher in a headlock in Gallagher’s armpit of a dorm room and the sounds of explosions from the action movie they had been attempting to watch echo in the background. It had started as a fight over who could take who out in a fight between Cyclopes and Daredevil and it had spiraled from there. So now, breathless with laughter, Mickey has almost secured victory.

“Say it,” Mickey demands, pulling Gallagher’s arms a bit further back.

“Never,” Gallagher half-laughs, half-gasps, still struggling against Mickey. 

“Say it,” Mickey tries again. “Fucking say it.”

“Nope,” Gallagher grins and he’s rubbing his ass against Mickey’s cock.

“Say you wanna suck my dick,” Mickey states, smug in the knowledge of what was to come. For good measure he leans down and bites Gallagher’s ear and he’ll freely admit he gets off on the red head’s moan.

“I wanna suck your dick,” Gallagher half-gasps, this time from poorly concealed arousal.

Mickey bites Gallagher’s ear again before almost whispering into Gallagher’s ear, “Good,” and letting him go. As soon as he’s free Gallagher uses that karate shit he’s learned in future jarheads of American and flips Mickey on his back. And then he’s kissing Mickey with a hunger that Mickey just come to expect from the red head. He kisses back just as fiercely, with an eagerness he’ll deny later.

“Seriously guys?” a slightly whiny voice interrupts them, “I left for like five minutes.”

“Shut up Vic,” Gallagher shoots back at his roommate.

“Get out,” Mickey orders, feeling Gallagher’s dick swell as Mickey got all authoritative. 

“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll just go hang out with Alice,” the boy mutters as he prepares to leave.

“Make good choices,” Gallagher shouts after the kid before turning back to Mickey. He’s grinning like he’s just won the grand prize and Mickey does the only thing he can think of to wipe that stupid look off the kid's freckled face: he kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always review/comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
